The Princess' Harem
Chapter 80: The Silent War

Chapter 80: The Silent War

Viana delved into the study of conflict. She learned about siege warfare, understanding the weak points of fortresses and the complex engineering needed for their downfall.

She meticulously sketched defensive lines and offensive maneuvers, envisioning how strongholds could be defended or broken. Every detail, from the tremor of a trebuchet to the cries from besieged walls, became clear in her mind.

She saw that even the strongest fortress was only as good as the minds defending it.

Diagrams of trebuchets and siege towers lay next to plans for reinforced gatehouses and hidden sally ports, a testament to destruction and defense.

She learned about starvation tactics, the impact of dwindling morale, and the critical role of intelligence gathering within besieged walls. She absorbed every detail, from scout placement to signs of dwindling food, understanding a siege as a brutal dance of endurance.

Her studies extended to guerrilla tactics and asymmetric warfare. She read accounts of smaller forces harassing larger armies, disrupting supply lines, and using local terrain to their advantage. These narratives highlighted the brutal efficiency of cunning over brute force.

Viana meticulously absorbed its principles, recognizing the cold logic behind each feint and ambush.

She examined how terrain could be used to trap or evade, transforming mountains into death traps or forests into sanctuaries. She learned how limited resources could be maximized and how psychological operations could break an enemy’s will.

This understanding gave her a chilling appreciation for the subtle cruelties of war.

She also focused on defensive strategies for various terrains: treacherous mountain passes, river crossings offering choke points, and dense forests for hiding forces. She drew diagrams of layered defenses, choke points, and crucial fallback positions, envisioning each as a shield for her homeland.

The importance of scouting and establishing safe ways to retreat was clear in every historical example.

Viana also spent considerable time on intelligence and counter-intelligence, recognizing that victory hinged on knowing the enemy’s plans while keeping her own secret. Codes, infiltrators, and disinformation were vital tools in this unseen war, as potent as any blade.

Her work was solitary, driven by an internal need. The heavy books, detailed maps, and precise notes filled her days.

The feeling of helplessness from her past life, where she felt like a pawn, was gone, replaced by a keen, analytical mind that devoured information. She no longer felt like a fragile princess, but a formidable scholar of conflict.

Each evening, as palace lights dimmed, a soft glow would still emanate from Viana’s window. She would be at her table, sketching a defensive line or rereading a general’s crucial mistake.

***

But tonight, the silence of her chamber was abruptly broken. Not by a servant, but by something impossible. A shimmer in the air, then a figure materialized.

Eryndor, an elf of striking, ethereal beauty, stood just behind her chair. His presence carried a faint scent of pine and something sharp and cold, that made the hairs on her arms stand up. It was a primal warning.

Viana tensed, her hand instinctively going to a hidden dagger. She turned quickly, revealing no fear, only controlled surprise. Her sharp eyes met his.

His voice, low and melodic, pierced the quiet. "Why do you study battle strategies, little princess?"

He stepped closer, his form drawing the light, and a faint, knowing smile touched his lips. His blue eyes, deep and ancient, held a familiar glint—one she had seen before. It was the look of someone who held secrets, who saw beyond the surface.

Viana held his gaze, refusing to flinch. "The kingdom needs this. Knowledge is a defense."

Her voice was steady, betraying little of the unease churning within her. She kept her posture straight, her hand resting near the dagger.

Eryndor moved to the edge of the table, his graceful fingers lightly tracing a mapped river. His closeness carried a warmth that was both inviting and deeply unsettling.

"A defense, or a weapon?" he mused, his gaze drifting from the map back to her, a knowing challenge in his eyes. "My own knowledge runs deep. You could find great use for my counsel, Princess. And perhaps... for other things."

His voice dropped to a near whisper, full of unsaid meaning.

His eyes lingered on her face, the hint clear, a familiar challenge deep in their eyes.

Viana’s expression remained neutral, a practiced mask, though a flicker of real curiosity crossed her features. She knew the game he was playing, and surprisingly, she found it interesting.

"How old are you, Eryndor?" she asked, her voice calm and direct, cutting through the playful tension.

He let out a soft, low chuckle, a sound that seemed to fill the quiet room.

"Old enough to have witnessed countless battles, Princess," he replied, his eyes still on hers. "Around two hundred and fifty years, by your human count. A mere blink for my kind."

He paused, then his expression changed, the playful shine replaced by a dark seriousness. "Though your studies are admirable, a more urgent problem has come up. My people watch much in the quiet parts of Elysia. For days now, unknown groups of men move silently across the frozen fields. They pour something into the snow, in scattered ways. No clear reason, no flag, just the careful spreading of an unknown dust across the land."

His voice now held no jokes, only a chilling urgency.

Viana’s expression tightened, her sharp focus returning. Her hand moved from the dagger, now resting flat on the map, as if to steady herself. Her attention snapped from his teasing tone to the grim news.

"Pouring what?" she asked, her voice low, almost a growl, heavy with dread.

Eryndor’s gaze held hers, his playfulness entirely gone, replaced by deep seriousness.

"A fine, almost invisible dust," he stated, his voice now fully serious. "It sticks to the last bits of snow, sinking into the earth as the thaw begins. Our scouts have taken samples. It makes things rot faster. Not quickly, but it weakens the soil, poisons the spring water, and hurts the roots of any plant. It is a slow poison, Princess. A sickness meant to starve the land and, by extension, its people."

Viana absorbed his words, her mind already racing through what they meant. Not a sudden assault, but a slow death.

Famine. Weakened populations. Civil unrest. Her kingdom would rot from within, without a single sword drawn.

A kingdom made weak not by direct attack, but by a lingering sickness from beneath the earth. This was a tactic far more insidious than a siege, a creeping horror that would choke the life out of Elysia over seasons. The brilliance of its cruelty was horrifying.

A sharp, painful memory surfaced from her past life: the long drought that had crippled Elysia years ago. Fields withered, rivers shrunk, and people suffered horribly.

She had witnessed the hardship but never understood the true cause, thinking it was just a natural disaster.

Now, a cold understanding settled within her. The pieces came together. It hadn’t been natural. It had been an attack, subtle and devastating, the same kind she was now learning about.

"Where exactly have they been seen?" she pressed, her voice sharp with urgency. Her hand moved to the map on the table, her eyes scanning the familiar lines of Elysia’s fertile plains, searching for patterns, for the enemy’s next move.

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